


puzzle pieces

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: You're a bunch of puzzle pieces that don't fit together.





	puzzle pieces

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the song by saint motel cuz it's like my fave atm and you should totally listen to it

You live three doors down from Brandon, and Eggsy comes across you entirely by coincidence.

He’s there for dinner and gets to the front gates of the complex at the same time you do. Your hands are full with plastic bags, so he rushes the last few steps ahead of you so he can pull the gate open to allow you through. You smile politely and nod your head in thanks but don’t say anything, and he smiles back, immediately offering to help you carry those bags up to your flat. The polite smile is still on your face and he can see it in your eyes that you’d rather be left alone, and he’s a little embarrassed at being so intrusive; he just wants to help whoever he can whenever he can, and maybe that might be too much for some—that’s entirely fine. But then you say okay, offering him the bags in your left hand, and the smile is back on his face as he follows you up the stairs.

He stands patiently behind you as you unlock the door, and when you’ve pushed it open, you turn to him, this time giving him a verbal thank you. He says you’re welcome and gives you the bags, then tells you to have a good day. The last smile you grace him with before heading inside is soft, and it’s all he’s seeing in his mind’s eye while he takes several steps down the corridor to Brandon’s apartment.

“That girl in 307,” Eggsy begins, plopping down on the couch. “Do you know her?”

Brandon stands straight, two beers in hand, as he shuts the refrigerator door. He’s silent for a moment as he tries to think of the person Eggsy is referring to. “Oh, [Name]? I’ve seen her in passing. Said hello a few times.”

Eggsy nods slowly as he takes in this information. “I helped her bring some bags up to her flat earlier. She seems sweet.” He says thanks when Brandon hands him one of the cans.

“You’d be lucky to get more than a few words out of her. She’s quiet; likes to keep to herself.”

This is the point where Eggsy would crack a joke the way he usually does, asking if that’s a challenge, because he’s Eggsy Unwin and he’s always up for a challenge, for there is none too big or small, but he stops himself now, as he opens the can and tilts his head back to take a giant swig and as that timid smile of yours flashes through his head again, beautiful and gentle and all together  _off_. He knows a broken soul when he sees one because he’s Eggsy Unwin and his own had been much the same.

Whenever he has the time, he visits Brandon, fingers crossed he might see you. And he doesn’t always. A part of him is bummed, even more so when he’s just a second too late and he’s watching you step into your flat. Maybe he can call out to you, during the days where he’s just a few steps behind, get you to stop so he can say hello and talk to you while also assuring you he’s not stalking you or anything, it’s just that his mate is three doors down and he figured he’d say hi and ask how your day is. But he doesn’t do any of that—he can’t bring himself to. The other part of him just wants to watch you from afar because you’re keeping to the backdrop of the stage, wordless and removed, and he realizes the feeling he gets at the prospect of approaching you is what he might feel when trying to approach a lion—apprehension, uncertainty. He is not the type to enjoy that sort of unease.

It doesn’t take Brandon long to notice the true purpose of most of Eggsy’s trips here because, in his words, Eggsy doesn’t just drop by to talk about last Sunday’s game and besides the fact this thing called a telephone exists, Eggsy doesn’t even keep up with the season consistently (“I’m working on it!”). So he asks how the two of you have gotten along so far and that’s when Eggsy sheepishly admits he hasn’t actually said anything. And Brandon is shocked to say the least because that is  _not_  the Eggsy he knows. No, sir. He wonders aloud if you’re the one—the girl to make Eggsy forget how to speak or think or walk without tripping over his own two feet.

Eggsy thinks about this and eventually says that he just doesn’t want to fuck anything up, but what he doesn’t say out loud is that it’s to your benefit, not his. He doesn’t care about making a fool of himself. He just doesn’t want to scare you away, because even when you’re at the doorstep to your flat and he’s still on the ground floor peering up at you he can see the cracks on your face from where you’ve torn yourself apart and stuck yourself back together, again and again and again, until the pieces no longer fit together. It’s not outrightly obvious to most, which he assumes is just the way you like it. But he sees them, understands them, and he keeps quiet. And he doesn’t know what to do because he wants to know you, know your soul and the infinite depths behind your eyes, but you might shy away when you learn that he can see the lines connecting mismatched puzzle pieces, the stitches holding you together.

That’s a wall he doesn’t want to hit, and for once in his life, he finds himself stuck and he can’t find a way out. He’s drowning and he’s holding a hand out, shouting at someone,  _anyone_ , to come save him. He’s never one to ask for help but he doesn’t exactly have a choice at the moment. It’s a shock when the hand to reach for his, to pull him out and into safety, is yours.

“You’re here often,” you remark.

Eggsy stops walking and twists around, pausing in his route to Brandon’s apartment. It’s just a few steps away now, and he hadn’t noticed you’d been following behind him up the stairs, quiet as you were. He smiles and shrugs. “My mate lives over in 310.”

“You two must be very close.”

“We’ve known each other a while, yeah.” Eggsy’s tucked his hands into his pocket and started slowly walking over to you without really noticing. “I’m Eggsy, by the way.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it because his mind had been drawing a blank, reeling in nerves as it is, and introducing himself seemed like the best course of action.

“[Name].” The familiar, timid smile is back on your face as you hold a hand out, which Eggsy shakes. You’re pulling him to shore.

Things are slow— _very_ slow. Eggsy’s taking his time because he can tell you’re closed off, and he’s steadily working away, getting you to open up, hoping desperately to see that smile, to get at least a  _glance_  at the burning embers of your soul. And you’re letting him in, little by little, steps that are minuscule and almost unnoticeable but to Eggsy, it is everything, and every tiny step forward is a leap in the right direction. Then before he knows it, your first date is four days from now, at a coffeeshop by the bookstore and he doesn’t even like coffee but you do. In fact, you’re the one who suggested the place, and he says okay because drinking a cup of coffee isn’t going to kill him.

Four days later, you’re nursing a cardboard coffee cup when you tease him about his distaste for coffee and tell him that that yes, of course you knew he didn’t like coffee, you could see it in his eyes. And he smiles in embarrassment at being caught, but then you tell him that it was awfully sweet of him to agree to get coffee anyway, so next time he can choose where to go, and you’ll say yes.

“Next time?” Eggsy can’t hide the smile on his face. He’s practically given away the way he feels about you by now, but if you could tell just from looking at him that he didn’t like coffee, then you probably knew how he felt about you by the time he’d told you his name.

You smile shyly and nod. “Yeah. Next time.”

Eggsy brings his own cardboard coffee cup up to his mouth so he can take a sip, and he tries to fight off a grimace as he swallows (he fails, and you laugh at his expression). “That sounds like a plan.”

———

The leaves are falling, and so is Eggsy.

It’s a month down the road and he’s at your apartment, which is small, but it’s cozy and lived-in and perfect. It’s a cold autumn evening so the two of you decide to stay in and watch movies. But halfway through the second one, you get distracted, caught up in one another, and the film is only background noise, your laughter the main event. Eggsy is drinking you in like a man who hasn’t had water in days, and by this point you’ve probably noticed he’s just been staring, lingering on your lips. When you’ve gone silent he knows for sure that you have. And so he takes that as his cue, leaning in, the few inches separating your lips feeling like miles until finally he’s kissing you and he’s wondering if he’s dreaming or something. Then he tells himself he’s being ridiculous and  _fuck no he isn’t dreaming_.

“Go away with me,” he murmurs against your lips. It’s taking everything within him not to kiss you again.

You smile slightly but don’t pull away, eyes sliding up to his. “Where?”

Eggsy shrugs, steals a quick kiss because he can’t help himself. “Anywhere. Let’s find a house in the woods. Let’s grow old together.” You can’t actually just “go away.” Both of you know this. You can’t just up and leave behind what you have here (Eggsy especially). But he figures love makes people do stupid things so he can reason that he’s talking like this because he can’t think straight when he’s with you.

He sets a hand on your cheek, gentle as he does so because he’s scared you might break if he’s not careful. Up close, the lines joining the puzzle pieces across your face are clearer than ever, and his thumb is stroking the soft skin of your cheek, as if to feel the cracks in your soul, the spaces he desperately wants to fill. And by now you know he sees it all, those hastily stitched together rifts and fissures, but you’ve never tried to push him away and he wonders if it’s because you also have this familiar feeling that your hearts are very, very old friends.


End file.
